A Second Shot
by Adrian.House
Summary: A study in how one act changes everything, and exactly how dangerous a book can be. Begins in Harry's second year. Harry, instead of Ginny, comes into possession of the diary.
1. Chapter 1

**A Second Shot by Adrian**

**Rate: T  
**

**Summary: **A study in how one act changes everything, and exactly how dangerous a book can be. Begins in Harry's second year, Harry, instead of Ginny, comes into possession of the diary.

**Disclaimer: **All rights to the Harry Potter series go to Jo; any delusions that I may have about owning any portion of the plot or characters are precisely that, DELUSIONS. Also, a portion of this chapter is taken straight from the book.

**A/N:** I apologize for the delay, and the change of account. I hope it hasn't been too much of an inconvenience and appreciate that you are continuing to read.

Also, I made very minor changes to this first chapter. Chapters two and three have been changed more extensively. I had to reconstruct them a bit, especially three, to accommodate my new (and much more complete) plot.

* * *

Harry pushed his way through the crowd of brainwashed, hormonal, middle-aged women that swarmed the book store in a manner similar to that of moths clustering towards a light until he spotted Ginny standing next to her empty cauldron. He shoved his way over, avoiding the Daily Prophet reporter, until he was standing next to her and proceeded to dump all of the books into the convenient emptiness that makes the cauldron a cauldron and not a useless block of metal.

Harry mumbled to her, "You have these. I'll buy my own – "

***Beginning of J.K.R's portion, taken from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets Chapter Four***

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" said a voice Harry had no trouble recognizing. He straightened up and found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual sneer.

"Famous Harry Potter," said Malfoy. "Can't even go into a book-shop without making the front page."

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" said Ginny. It was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry. She was glaring at Malfoy.

"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" drawled Malfoy. Ginny went scarlet as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart's books.

"Oh, it's you," said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?"

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," retorted Malfoy. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."

Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the cauldron, too, and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket.

"Ron!" said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley."

It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, sneering in just the same way.

"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All those raids . . . I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_.

"Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny.

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he said.

"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley . . . and I thought your family could sink no lower –"

There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; "Gentlemen, please – please!" cried the assistant, and then, louder than all –

"Break it up, there, gents, break it up –"

Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an _Encyclopedia of Toadstools_. He was still holding Ginny's old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

"Here, girl – take your book – it's the best your father can give you –" Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

***End of Copied Portion***

Harry's eyes narrowed as he watched the exchange; his seekers observational power catching the slight-of-hand as Mr. Malfoy gave back Ginny's Transfiguration book along with another slimmer book that had not previously been in Ginny's possession. From what he knew, anything involving Mr. Malfoy and the Malfoy family was probably something sinister and dangerous; Harry resolved to get it from Ginny when they got back to the Burrow.

It was a subdued group that headed back to the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, the Weasleys, and all their shopping traveled back to the Burrow by Floo powder while the Grangers headed out to muggle London.

Harry took off his glasses and put them safely in his pocket before helping himself to Floo powder. It definitely wasn't his favorite way to travel.

Arriving back at the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley sent them all to put away their new school things. After quickly dumping his purchases onto his bed, Harry decided to take his chance at retrieving the mysterious book from Ginny. Making his excuses to Ron, he sprinted down the stairs to Ginny's room. Stopping at the door, he paused slightly before quietly knocking and waiting. The door opened almost immediately to reveal Ginny who promptly turned a deep tomato red at the sight of Harry.

Forcing his slightly anxious facial expression into a small smile Harry said, "Hey Ginny, I . . . uh, think I may have gotten one of my books mixed in with yours, so . . ."

Blushing even more, Ginny stuttered, "Oh . . . um . . . I, uh, guess you can come in and look for it."

Harry stepped inside the small, yellow room which was decorated in a fashion that he could not quite associate with the shy Ginny he was accustomed to. The desk was placed by the window that overlooked the field they had used to play Quidditch. Harry's attention turned toward the cauldron that was perched on top of the bed. Hurrying over, he quickly shuffled through the smiling Lockhart books until he found the Transfiguration book, and there, tucked between the pages, he found the small, black book. Taking it, he turned the blushing red head and muttered a soft, "Thank you," before fleeing the embarrassing situation and heading back up the stairs towards Ron's room.

Ron was still in his hideously orange room when Harry arrived, so Harry hid the book in his trunk before adding his school books and other purchases on top of the previous year's disorganized mess.

Mrs. Weasley's voice reached them from the kitchen as she called everyone to dinner. Vowing to himself to investigate the book later, Harry slammed his trunk shut and went to go join the chaos of a Weasley family meal.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** If you are following this story from my previous account this note is for you. I've made some rather important changes to this chapter, but they're kind of subtle. I would SUGGEST rereading.

_

* * *

_The Weasleys' chaotic lifestyle was not especially conducive when one wanted solitude, so, inevitably, Harry quickly forgot about his newest acquisition of questionable intent.

It was the usual Weasley rush as they prepared to head to King's Cross Station. After finally managing to stuff everyone's trunks into the magically expanded ("Don't tell Molly!") car, and several turn-arounds later they arrived at the station with mere minutes to spare.

Everyone had crossed through the barrier save for Harry and Ron when the unusual, and most often unfortunate circumstances that seem to follow Harry around struck again; the pair sprinted toward the barrier only to be met with a structurally sound and exceptionally solid brick wall.

Putting all of their often neglected brain power to the task, Harry and Ron came to the most logical conclusion any prepubescent twelve-year-old boys would come to given the present predicament; common sense dictated that they take the flying car to school!

After several hours of driving and suffering, from both hunger and thirst, they began to near Hogwarts, only to have Murphy's Law – which Harry was almost positive was made specifically to describe his life – strike; the car's engine began to give out. This, of course, caused them to crash into a rather volatile tree.

Once safely on the ground, the car proceeded to violently expel its occupants before going rouge and speeding into the forbidden forest leaving Harry and Ron sprawled gracelessly on the grass. They headed toward the school, only to be caught by Snape and consequently spent the next hour being severely berated, scolded and threatened before McGonagall allowed them to go to their common room with merely a detention and a note to their perspective guardians. Both boys promptly collapsed into bed after the tiring day, so it was not until later in the week, when Harry had to dig out all of the narcissistic Lockhart books for defense, that he once again stumbled upon the mysterious book.

* * *

If he had hands Tom would have repeatedly slapped himself. For a supposedly brilliant head boy this had been a rather stupid idea; not that he would have admitted that when he had done it, but after spending Merlin only knows how long in the dark, with no feeling other than the constant wet of ink, and with only his thoughts for company he was sure that he had gone mad.

Tom often, rather bitterly, congratulated himself for having finally gotten himself into a situation that he couldn't fix, and would curse his impatience while speculating upon the state of affairs in the outside world. Had the Hitler been killed? Had there been any more bombings in London? What about Grindelwald? Where any of them even still alive?

It was a rather sad existence; there was no touch, no taste, no sound or smell and above all, no company in the oppressive darkness. It would have been almost bearable if there was just someone to talk to, if there was some way for him to assure that he was not insane, or that he had not lasted so long that the world had imploded and he was now floating in space completely alone. Tom needed to know that there was a way for him to get out of his confines. It was days such as this – though he had lost all sense of time decades ago – that he contemplated all the ways a book could commit suicide; until he remembered that being a book was again going to foil his plans.

Being reluctant to believe that his freedom from his self-induced margins was possible, Tom was rather startled when there was a feeling. It was just a light ruffle as someone flicked through his pages . . . and was that a whispered sound, his name perhaps? But the light as the book was opened was glorious.

If Tom had been capable of speech he would have urged his unknown visitor to write something. He did not, however, initiate contact as his cautious nature prevented him from revealing what type of book he truly was without having received information in return first.

The quill touched the page and the ink seeped into his being, looping into words and giving meaning to the world he had created. Written in a childish scrawl was _My name is Harry Potter._

Harry had hardly finished writing when new words appeared; Tom, in his excitement, was eager to respond and unwilling to give up his chance.

_Hello Harry Potter, my name is Tom Riddle._

And Tom hoped.

Harry paused for a moment to consider the phenomena of a conversing book before responding. _What are you?_

It was Tom's turn to hesitate; he considered carefully how much to reveal before responding. _That's an intelligent question, which requires a long answer. To put it simply, I'm a person - a soul that - accidentally trapped myself in this diary. What year is it? _

_1992. Why? _

Tom could hardly believe that he'd wasted fifty years. He had fifty years of information to catch up on. Fifty years worth of "history" to pry out of this Potter, although, he doubted it would be considerably difficult to keep the, presumably young if his handwriting was any indicator, boy writing. And that was the key; keeping this Potter writing was Tom's source of information.

_I put myself in this diary fifty years ago and . . . I have an idea, you may ask me a question then I will ask you a question. Sound fair? _

Harry stared at the diary in shock, and wondered at the wisdom of writing to something of such nature, but . . . Tom had been in there for fifty years all alone, more isolated than himself at the Dursley's. Still, it was Malfoy that had it before him, how could he be assured that it wasn't a trick. . . . Though, it didn't appear to be doing any harm, it was just a book after all, and, more importantly, Harry was curious. So he agreed. _Ok, first question. How did you get trapped in your diary?_

Tom thought briefly, trying to find a way of phrasing his answer without scaring away his only chance for rescue, or escape. However, it was a question he had anticipated. _I was researching, and came across a ritual that, in a moment of stupidity, I did not read all of the fine print of, and as a result ended up trapped in my diary. Tell me about your life. _

That response, Harry found, did more to encourage his curiosity than to quench his thirst for answers. _I'm twelve, go to Hogwarts, my parents died when I was one so I was raised by my aunt and uncle. . . and unusual circumstances seem attracted to me like fleas to a dog._

That was a version of his life that only Harry would be capable of producing, everyone else would have an answer riddled with the dark lord.

Harry glanced at his watch.

_Sorry, it's late, I have to get some sleep before class._

Panic was the chief emotion that ran through Tom causing him to do something he would have hardly considered doing before his stint in a diary; he begged.

_Please write again soon. Please._

_I will._

Guessing at Harry's character, Tom continued his plea. _Promise me that you will write, I – I don't want to be alone anymore._

There was a long pause that would have caused Tom's heart rate to sky rocket if he had a heart.

_I promise. Goodnight Tom. _

Tom was rather pleased that he'd guessed correctly.

And so Harry's second year began.

* * *

**A/N:**. . . riddled with the dark lord . . . I crack myself up. HAHAHAHA. I'm sorry; I know that it's a bad joke.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **If you're following this story over from my previous account then I HIGHLY SUGGEST you reread this chapter. Significant changes have been made. **  
**

_

* * *

_If he had a body Tom would have fidgeted; twirling his wand through the fingers of his right hand while tapping his thigh at consistent intervals with his left, then sighing with impatience. However, as he was a book – a fact that he was continually reminded of – there was not much he could do in the way of movement except doodling on his pages, and there were only so many pictures one could draw before becoming entirely bored with the institution of amateur art.

In truth, Tom was waiting; something he detested more than anything else, especially now after spending fifty years in his diary. He found it was perfectly fine to give the illusion of waiting, but when one was actually required to it implied that they did not have control of the situation, and someone else was being allowed to set the pace. It was an altogether unfortunate situation for Tom, but there was nothing to be done about it as he was once again reminded that he was trapped in a book.

But there was hope now. There was Harry; it was Harry who had promised to come back, and Harry for whom Tom was now waiting for.

This brought Tom to another thread of thought; what was he to do with Harry. He could attempt to possess Harry, take over the body and make it his own – a solution which presented several problems, not to mention a severe wound to Tom's ego – or he could slowly drain Harry's life force to feed his own until he could generate his own body. It would take some consideration. Either way, Tom knew he would have to earn Harry's trust and get to know Harry to get a feel for his personality, and his soul. That suited his purposes for now; Tom would use the time to acquire information and reawaken the skill of conversation.

The rustling sound that Tom had been anxiously anticipating was a welcome change to the silence, even more so when the words began to form.

_Tom? _

It was rare that something made Tom wish that he could close his eyes, and sigh in relief.

_You've returned. _

_I said I would. _

Tom was mildly surprised at receiving such a sentiment from a virtual stranger. It was in his experience that people, even the supposedly well meaning ones, did what they wanted, when they wanted, regardless of what they may have said. Words, in most cases, perhaps especially Tom's case, rarely equated to action. Harry was apparently one of those rare people that kept his word, or at least attempted to. It made Tom wonder if Harry been taught this virtue by example, and what kind of example. Were this child's aunt and uncle people that kept their word, or is he a child that has learned through disappointment? Tom certainly learned through that later, and he most certainly did not take away the same lesson from the experience. Although, this new information did fit with Tom's previous assumptions regarding Harry that he'd gathered during their brief conversation.

_Yes, you did. How was your day? _

There was a part of Harry, one that he did not usually acknowledge, that was secretly thrilled by the interest.

_It was ok I guess. Some weird stuff happened, but this is Hogwarts so it's kind of expected. Can we do the question thing again? _

If Harry was honest he could very well have elaborated, but, despite that small voice practically screaming for the attention, he was a naturally rather private person even with the seemingly harmless, and more so with those that proclaimed to be interested. Tom appeared to be a pleasant bloke, if and extremely lonely one, but there wasn't much else that could be expected after being trapped in a diary. However, Harry couldn't shake his first impression, more of an instinct really, that there was something incredibly wrong about Tom. This feeling, however, Harry wrote off to being his suspicion about a talking book. He was in the wizarding world; surely if they placed a talking hat on children's heads every year then a conversing diary wasn't anything unusual or harmful.

_Of course. I'll go first. What happened today? _

_I suppose if you really want to know. It really isn't that interesting. _

There was a pause during which Tom was not quite sure if Harry would continue.

_Well it started with Oliver Wood, the quidditch captain, waking me up early for quidditch practice. I was going down to the pitch when this little first year, Colin Creevey decided to follow me down to watch practice. The kids kind of creepy (wow creepy Creevey, I just noticed that) and starts asking me to sign photographs for him, and to tell him about quidditch. Well, we finally get to the field and he goes to the stands to watch practice. We didn't get to fly for long because the Slytherin team showed up to practice even though Oliver had booked the field, but apparently Snape – that's their head of house – gave them special permission to use the field to train their new seeker who just happens to be Draco Malfoy. Not only that, but Malfoy's father bought the entire team new brooms to get the git onto the team. Anyways, by this time my friends showed up and we got into a fight with Malfoy because he called Hermione a "mud blood". Ron attempted to curse him, but his wand is broken from when we crashed the Weasley's car into the Whomping Willow that's on the grounds, so it didn't work right. Instead of cursing Malfoy, the wand backfired and Ron started barfing up slugs for hours. That pretty much sums everything up. _

It took Tom a moment to process the seemingly meaningless drivel to form several different directions of thought and decide which one would be easiest to pursue first, and which would give him the most information about Harry.

_You're on the quidditch team. What position do you play? For what house? _

_I'm the seeker for Gryffindor. This is my second year on the team. _

_Really? I thought you said you were twelve. That means you'd have been on the team in your first year. _

_Yeah, I suppose. I really shouldn't have been on the team, but McGonagall caught me flying when I wasn't supposed to be and put me on the team. _

Tom wondered at what caused the special treatment. _Interesting. You must be good to get on the team so young. _

For reasons he could not comprehend Harry felt compelled to explain, and did so with a slight feeling of pride. _Well, they say it's in my blood. I've been told that my father was really good at quidditch too. _

Please at how the conversation was progressing, Tom decided that a new angle was in order. _That makes sense. So you don't get along well with the Malfoy child. Does he have any relation to Abraxas Malfoy? _

_I don't know. His father's name is Lucius and – hey, isn't it my turn to ask a question! _Harry, although he didn't mind much, did recognize that he'd told Tom much more than he'd intended without having gotten any information in return.

Tom's eye would have twitched had he the capability. He had been sure that Harry was sufficiently distracted so that he could extract information while giving as little as possible.

_I suppose it is. _

It was only then, when it was actually his turn, that Harry realized how difficult it was to think of a question when he didn't have anything in particular that he wanted to know.

_Right. So, um, this is kind of embarrassing since everyone expects me to know all about the wizarding world, but I was raised by muggles and no one's bothered to explain anything to me and – _

Now that sparked Tom's interest. It was not the first time that Tom had noticed Harry making a vague reference to other people expectations of him. What could he possibly have done to deserve that kind of attention? And why was he raised by muggles when his parents – at least his father – were obviously magical? Tom itched to hurry Harry along so that he could ask his next question.

_Just ask the question. If you haven't noticed, it's not like I could laugh. _

Harry, however, could laugh, and did at Tom's surprising show of a sense of humour. Feeling much more relaxed, Harry continued his question.

_Alright then. What's a mud blood? Ron explained that it was another name for muggleborn, but meant 'dirty blood', but I don't really understand why people use it, or what it means I guess. I don't know. _

Tom mulled over what he should say; he could express his beliefs, but that would be dangerous. If Harry did not agree and stopped writing it would be disastrous for Tom's plans. Therefore, Tom decided to take a more textbook approach.

_Harry, mudblood is another name for muggle-born, but it does have that derogatory implication that your friend explained. In the wizarding world there are muggle-borns, half-bloods and pure-bloods. Pure-bloods are called that because their blood is pure. They come from a completely magical background which means that they have several generations of pure-blood ancestry. Half-bloods have one magical parent, and muggle-borns come from non-magical families. There are some people who believe that because someone comes from a non-magical background they are less worthy to practice magic, and that their magic is less natural than someone who is from a pure-blood family. It has been a major political issue in the wizarding world for thousands of years, and seems unlikely that it will ever completely resolve itself. _

Harry found it hard to write past the lump in his throat and the slight constricting feeling in his chest as he became more aware than ever that, despite the initial fairytale feeling of the wizarding world, people would always be people. With slightly shaky hands he continued.

_And do you believe that?_

Tom was pleased that he'd read Harry's correctly again, and was able to answer appropriately.

_It hasn't been an issue. You come to realize that blood hardly matters when you accidentally trap yourself in a book and don't have any blood at all._

_So you don't believe that?_

_I cannot say, Harry. I am a half-blood, but perhaps blood status was more of an issue during my time; it is difficult to let go of old beliefs, whatever they may be. However, I believe that it is again my turn to ask a question. You mentioned that Colin Creevey was trying to get you to sign a photograph, why would he want you to? _

It was a show of his growing trust that Harry wrote about the cause of his unwanted fame.

_When I was one this dark wizard was going around gathering followers and killing people. He attacked me and my parents. My parents died, but for some reason when he cast the killing curse at me it backfired. His body was destroyed and I was left with this lightning bolt scar on my forehead. I'm the only person to ever have survived that curse, and the dark lord was gone, so people celebrated. Apparently I'm famous for that. It's weird because I don't remember much about it. Just a bit of green light. _

Tom did the math and realized it was unlikely that the dark lord Harry was referring to was Grindelwald; Grindelwald had already accumulated a following in his day. It was with apprehension and anticipation that Tom asked his next question.

_What was the name of the Dark Lord? _

_Lord Voldemort. But most people call him You-Know-Who. Apparently they don't like saying his name, but Dumbledore says that we should say his name. Something about fear of the name increases fear of the name itself. _

Now that was a name Tom was familiar with. He would have laughed at the irony of the situation if it had not been so serious. So the rest of him was apparently also without a body, and Dumbledore was still alive. Fate truly was a cruel mistress.

Tom cautiously reached out to towards Harry and nearly spluttered ink across his pages in shock. He could feel Harry's presence, but it was slightly shielded by another extremely familiar attachment. Tom could feel it jump slightly in anticipation when he made contact.

So, Tom concluded, his original plan had, as far as he could tell with current information, at least partially succeeded. He had created more than one horcrux, although why he would make a person a horcrux was beyond him.

This complicated matters. He would have to be more precised than he'd originally thought when siphoning from Harry. He'd rather avoid using someone else's life force when there was enough of his own soul there to get himself a body. Why contaminate himself with another person? Sure, it would take longer as he'd have to be more careful, but finally, all it would take was a little patience and he would be free.

And for the first time Tom was pleased that he was a book for there was no way he could have veiled his smirk.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: ** The long awaited for fourth chapter. I've got a much clearer idea of what I'm doing with the plot, so the next chapters should (hopefully) not take as long.

* * *

By late October Harry found himself pleasantly surprised with how his second year at Hogwarts was progressing. Apart from the dramatic start, the year was proving to be relatively peaceful – as peaceful as life could ever be when surrounded by hundreds of under-aged wizards and witches that had yet to complete their training– but Harry found it was significantly less stressful than his first year, and that fact was quite agreeable to him.

The initial shock he had experienced when first entering into the wizarding world had worn off, although he still found himself surprised by what could be accomplished by magic. His adjustment to the school schedule was much less difficult now that he was confident about where all of his classes were located. It astonished Harry how much of the first years' nerves would have been assuaged had they been provided with a map. More than either of these, Harry was finding that his journal – he hesitated to call it a diary for fear that Ron would discover it and laugh – was rapidly becoming his closest confidant, and that his private confessions were, more than any of the other factors, helping to relieve his worries in a way no one had ever done for him before. Harry mused that Tom was almost like an older brother or parental figure, and occasionally wondered if his parents would have acted as Tom was, providing both a sympathetic ear and helpful advice.

It was just beginning to get late in the evening on the night before Halloween. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were clustered around their books at a table in the Gryffindor common room where Hermione had appointed herself taskmaster and was monitoring the group's progress on their homework.

With a final scratch of his quill, Harry cast a cursory glance at his last essay – which he believed should have been titled "An Ode to All Things Lockhart" rather than "Proper Way to Wrestle a Werewolf" – and declared himself finished. In fact, he would have completed it already had Hermione not made him redo his first draft. Apparently writing Call Professor Lockhart across the top of the parchment wasn't a suitable essay, and did not meet the length requirement, although Harry was sure Lockhart would have given him and O regardless.

The intended effect of the glare Ron aimed at Harry was greatly diminished by the ink smeared across the tip of his nose. Hermione glanced up from editing Ron's potion's essay and said, "Great. If you give me a minute I can look it over for you."

"No thanks, Hermione. It's for Lockhart, it's not like he actually reads any of this rubbish."

Harry shared a conspiratorial grin with Ron as Hermione exclaimed at their lack of respect for a professor. Falling into a companionable silence, they sat for awhile watching the pre-Halloween celebration courtesy of the Weasley twins.

As he watched his brothers, Ron attempted to casually interject, "It's too bad we're going to miss the feast tomorrow. Do we really have to go to a death day party?"

Harry, who was beginning to wish he hadn't agreed to attend, nodded, "Yeah, I told Nick I'd go, but I don't mind if you want to go to the feast instead."

"No! We're coming with you!" Hermione said, "Aren't we Ron? It'll be so exciting! A death day party, I don't imagine many living people have ever attended one."

"Aww. Come on!" Ron half-heartedly argued, "It'll be depressing, AND we're going to miss the food!"

Harry grimaced a bit at the mention of the feast; he had been anticipating a chance to experience the Hogwarts Halloween celebration without interruption, but it couldn't be helped; he'd already promised Nick that he would attend and Harry did not intend to go back on his word.

Stifling a yawn, Harry stood and gathered his homework into his bag. He picked up Tom's diary and was about to excuse himself for the night when Hermione spoke.

"Harry, I've been meaning to ask for awhile now. What is that book? Only, you've been carrying it around for awhile now, and I know it isn't a textbook."

Harry froze for a second and reflexively tightened his hold on the book. He couldn't quite meet her eye when he said, "It's nothing. Just a journal."

Ron, as Harry had feared, laughed, "Mate, you keep a diary?"

Harry glared at him, while Hermione, after giving Ron a scolding look, appeared surprised, but also understanding. "Oh. I didn't mean to pry."

With a bit of an awkward nod, Harry said stiffly, "Well, I'm off to bed. Night." The sound of their replies followed him up the stairs.

As soon as he entered his dorm Harry stowed away his book bag. Grabbing an inkwell and quill, Harry closed the curtains around his four-poster bed and opened the diary. He needed to talk to Tom.

Harry wrote in a rushed manner, making his usual scrawl more sloppy than usual. _Hello Tom. _

Tom was eager to continue their conversations. _Hello again, Harry. Are you alright? _

_I'm fine. Just – my friends found out about this diary_. Harry continued writing quickly, almost able to feel Tom misinterpreting what he was saying. _No, not about you or anything. Just that I'm writing in this. They think it's my diary. Ron laughed. They were staring and asking questions. It just makes me nervous is all. _

It made Tom nervous as well. The last thing he wanted was for someone else to come snooping and get a hold of his diary. Harry was his key. Harry was his horcrux; no one else would work as well for his purposes as Harry.

_That is a cause for concern, but, __naturally, I trust you have diverted their attention elsewhere. _

_Of course Tom. _

_Very good.__ Is there anything else troubling you?_

Harry smiled faintly at the praise and the concern. He didn't want his friends to find out about the diary either, but for an entirely different reason. As ridiculous as it seemed, Harry didn't particularly want to share Tom. Tom was Harry's to talk to; Hermione and Ron had their parents, and Ron had his older brothers to ask for advice. And, quite frankly, there were some thoughts best kept silent, even from ones closest friends; in a way Tom was very much like an actual diary as Harry felt that any thoughts he'd hesitate to tell Ron and Hermione he could tell to Tom without fear of ridicule, rejection, or offending, and he was better than a diary because Harry was almost sure that if someone else was to talk to Tom, Tom would keep Harry's secrets.

_Nothing really. Just the usual. Those two first years I told you about, Colin __and Ginny, are still annoying. I swear they've formed some sort of Harry Potter club. It kind of scares me actually. _

Tom couldn't help but think this conversation style was becoming a little dull. Yes, he was learning little tidbits about the modern wizarding world, but Tom was beginning to think that Harry was entirely oblivious to almost everything because either Harry was more ignorant about the world than he was, or very few of the customs had changed in the last fifty years. Although, knowing wizards, it was entirely possible that society had remained unaltered.

_Have you considered using a harmless, but effective hex as a deterrent? _

Harry was aghast. _Oh no! I couldn't do that! They aren't that bad, just a bit annoying. I'm not really upset by them anyways, I can usually avoid them with secret passageways. It's when I'm not expecting them, or I have to go somewhere where there isn't a secret passage that they're a problem. Like today, they ambushed me outside of the hospital wing when I was going to see Madam Pomfrey about a different cure for these headaches. I don't think this one is working. _

The headaches had begun awhile ago, and behaved in a rather perplexing manner. Sometimes Harry thought that they felt eerily similar to the previous year when his scar would hurt, but that was surely impossible; it wasn't as if Voldemort was anywhere near him. He couldn't be. It was irrelevant anyways, because at other times it was nothing more than a slight twinge, while others where near crippling in intensity.

After one particularly intense episode Harry had consulted Madam Pomfrey, at Hermione's insistence, and had been given some potions to take to relieve the headache. They seemed to have worked; he hadn't had another episode since he'd started taking them, but Harry was beginning to notice that the slight ache hadn't gone away.

Tom was almost certain that he knew the cause of the mysterious headaches. _You may have a slight allergy to one of the ingredients, or perhaps those two nuisances are more annoying than you've been letting on. I still suggest a hex._

Harry laughed. _Tom! It's funny to imagine, but I really can't. Ginny is Ron's sister. He'd be so mad at me. I think he's a little angry with me anyways. Tomorrow's Halloween. He's not too happy that we're going to Nick's death day party tomorrow instead of the feast. Honestly, I'm not either. We're going to miss the feast and the decorations. Hagrid's pumpkins look huge! But I promised I'd go. I told Ron that if he doesn't want to go I don't mind at all if he goes to the feast instead, but Hermione's coming with me, and I guess he doesn't want to stay at the feast alone. I think Hermione's the only one who is excited about it. _

_I think a death day party would be fascinating. I highly doubt very many of the living can claim to have attended one. _

_That's what Hermione said. _Harry thought with a smile that, if he'd been so inclined as to introduce them, Hermione and Tom would have gotten along well. _And, well, I guess I am a little curious about it. It might be interesting, and – _

_And what, Harry? _

Harry hesitated a bit; it wasn't a topic he was particularly fond of. _Well. Halloween is the anniversary of when my parents were murdered. It's kind of fitting, I guess, that I'd go to a death day party on the anniversary. _

Yes, Tom decided, a death day party had the potential to be very fascinating.

* * *

Harry took Tom's diary out of his trunk, and closed the curtains around his bed as had become his routine every night.

He was feeling pleasantly full. Sure, the food at the death day party had been unpleasant, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione had left as soon as they were sure their presence would not be missed, and had managed to slide into the Great Hall early enough to catch dessert. Hermione was rather appalled at not eating anything with nutritional value, but neither Harry nor Ron had minded.

_Well, Tom, you were right. The death day p__arty was definitely interesting. _

_Of course I was right. When am I ever wrong? – That is what is known as a rhetorical question, Harry. Tell me what happened. _

A few blots of ink fell onto the page as Harry laughed. When he regained control of himself, Harry started scribbling rapidly.

_It was__ extremely odd. The music sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Everyone but us was a ghost. Which is kind of strange to think about. I just went to a part where literally most of the guests were dead. Anyways, we talked to Nick a bit, but he got a bit upset when some other ghost – I think he was called Patrick or something like that – showed up with a gang of other ghosts and where doing something called the "Headless Hunt." They were throwing their heads around, it was really disturbing, but I guess Nick wants to join. The food there was disgusting. It was an entire table of rotten stuff, but apparently when its rotten ghosts can get a better hint of the flavour or something. I don't know, and I'm not sure I want to. But we got away from that table as soon as possible, the smell was horrible. Then we ran into Moaning Myrtle and talked to her for a bit. Ron and I had never heard of her, but Hermione said that she haunts the girls' lavatory on the second floor. She ran off pretty quick after Peeves started making fun of her. We went up to the Great Hall after that and had dessert. _

Myrtle. Tom could hardly believe it, but moaning certainly sounded like the same Myrtle he'd temporarily gone to school with. _Moaning Myrtle, why is she called that? _

Harry thought it was a rather odd detail to focus on, but then again, he thought Tom was a little odd. _Umm. I'm not sure. Hermione said that she haunts a toilet in there, and spends most of her time crying or flooding the room. I guess that's why. _

Tom still found that he could scarcely believe it, although it did make sense. Myrtle. Moaning Myrtle. The name certainly fit her, even when she'd been alive she'd been a snivelly twit and it was just like Myrtle to waste her afterlife flooding a lavatory. Still, there was something almost inconceivable about known a person you'd murdered had come back as a ghost. It was, tangible proof of his deeds, and yet, no one would ever know that he'd done it. There was a certain thrill in that fact.

Death day parties had proven themselves to be exceptionally fascinating.

Then there was the Harry problem, Tom had yet to find a plausible explanation for why Harry could have survived a killing curse, and that was frustrating. There wasn't anything obviously special about the boy.


End file.
